


The Darkness of Insanity

by NightCourt_HighLady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightCourt_HighLady/pseuds/NightCourt_HighLady
Summary: Sherlock is attempting to solve a string of serial murders that are, as usual, baffling Scotland Yard. This serial killer, however, seemed to be a little bit... different.





	

Sherlock was confused. Which, admittedly, was an extremely rare occurrence. But this sudden onset of serial killings in London confused him. 

He’d been reading a paper in the American city of Williamsburg when he saw the first headlines- “Death of Well Known Journalist Baffles Police.” Sherlock had snickered. The police were always baffled. He knew they would figure it out eventually. The woman seemed uninteresting. She wore bright colors constantly, especially on the telly. She had been killed in a business suit that was an appalling shade of magenta.

The second headline had been seen in Munich. It was something like- “Chinese Woman Dead- Police Still Have No Leads.” The woman had worked in a museum and cared for old Chinese artifacts.

The third- “Elderly Blind Woman Found Dead- Serial Killer On The Rise?” The Fourth- “New Serial Killer Baffles Police.” The old woman was frail and couldn’t have made it out of bed on her own. No one knew exactly why the victim was dragged around to the spot where she was left.

Soon, Sherlock knew, Mycroft would call. He was practically done disabling Moriarty’s network, his last assignment nearly complete. He would have headed back to London anyway, but now he absolutely had to. There was an absolutely fascinating serial killer on the loose! He’d have to solve it as a peace offering for John.

The final list of victims before Mycroft called was long- The original three, plus a comic book artist, a blonde woman, a theatre actor, a college student, a high end prostitute, a rich young guy from outside London, and, most regrettably, a little boy and girl. Sherlock wished that Mycroft had spoken to him before that had happened. There were interesting things about each of the situations.

When Sherlock finally got back to London, he spent hours in his mind palace trying to find out what the cause of this set of murders was. They were connected  _ somehow _ . It seemed as though his mind palace refused to tell him how. And he couldn’t understand why.

He mapped out the locations of the bodies on a map, and it came to him. They centered around St. Barts. Each of these murders had something to do with the cases as they were on John’s blog. The lady in magenta- A Study in Pink. The Chinese woman from the Blind Banker case. All of the people were from one of the cases. Sherlock’s jaw dropped when he realized- someone was after him. Or John. Either way, they were both in danger. John couldn’t know. He couldn’t tell him about it. Besides, Sherlock knew that John would be too angry to initially help, and may not believe him anyway. He had to solve it. And soon. 

 

Eventually, Sherlock realized that the last murder would be centered around St. Barts. Probably on the roof, if the other murders were any indication. Sherlock decided to confront the killer. In typical Sherlock fashion, he alerted nobody to his plan. According to Molly Hooper, all the victims had died around the same time- midnight. Sherlock had groaned at that information- so overly dramatic and typical of a serial killer.But he had made his way up on to the roof of St. Barts at ten minutes before midnight anyway and waited. 

Despite his thick Belstaff, Sherlock shivered in the wind. Privately, he hoped that the killer would hurry up and get here so that they could commence with the confronting and chasing and eventual locking up of the killer. He sighed at the routine of it all. Suddenly, he heard a strange voice.

“Oh good, I was right to not bring another victim tonight. My victim brought himself.” The voice emitted a strangely high pitched giggle. The giggle of the insane. Sherlock got chills. He didn’t anticipate madness. 

“I surely hope you don’t mean me,” Sherlock asserted confidently, “The police are on their way now and you couldn’t kill me anyway.”

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock,” the killer said in a strangely gentle voice, “We both know that the police aren’t coming. You didn’t even tell them you were coming up here. You never do. You always seem to forget that detail. Calling the police was always my job.”

Sherlock gasped as the killer moved into the light.

“What’s the matter, Sherlock?” Doctor John Watson taunted, “Wasn’t this a great place for the reunion? The place where everything fell apart. My life, my sanity, everything. I watched you die here Sherlock. Isn’t it nice to know that I didn’t believe you were dead? I spent years searching for you. Then I realized- I didn’t have to search. I could get you to come back to me. All I had to do was draw you in.” 

John smiled. But he didn’t smile his normal smile. This was the smile of the irreparably insane. Sherlock was afraid. His entire body was shaking in fear. This wasn’t his John, but it was. Somehow it was John and not John at the same time. And Sherlock was stuck. He had no way of getting out. And he hadn’t called the police. He suddenly realized how much danger he was in. 

“John,” Sherlock, began, “I’m so sorry…”

“Oh stuff it!” John suddenly snarled, “You don’t care! You never cared! You only cared about yourself and your  _ work _ ” the last word was spat out. 

“John, I..” 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Sherlock, would you just SHUT UP!” John yelled, “Don’t you get it? I don’t care what you have to say! You died, Sherlock, you died and left me to pick up the pieces and I never could. How do you think I got here? I wanted you back, Sherlock, but I only wanted you back so that you could witness my last triumph.” John grinned insanely, a dark glee shining in his eyes making Sherlock take a step back without thinking. John pulled out the gun that had saved Sherlock’s life on more than one occasion and pointed it directly at his chest. Sherlock suddenly couldn’t breathe. John was going to kill him.

“I’m going to kill you Sherlock,” John echoed Sherlock’s thoughts with eerie precision, “I’m going to make sure you can never leave me again.” Sherlock itched to destroy that logic, but with uncharacteristic self control, he bit his tongue. It did him no good. The last sensations Sherlock registered were a gunshot, an exploding pain in his chest, and a deep sadness at John Watson’s insane grin.

 

When the police responded to the call of the gunshot on the roof of St. Barts, Greg Lestrade accompanied them on a hunch. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock in ages after setting him on this new serial killer and there was a frightened feeling in the pit of his stomach. And he was right to. What he saw on the rooftop that night haunted him forever.

John Watson was cradling the dead body of Sherlock Holmes. All you could hear was a soft crooning of “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Which was unnerving enough. Then, when you look closer, you realize that one of John’s hands was holding a gun. And the other was covered in blood to the wrist. On the wall next to John was written a chilling message in Sherlock’s own blood. Presumably by John. “I believe in Sherlock Holmes” the message stated. Greg shivered at the gruesome sight. Suddenly John caught sight of Greg.

“Hullo, Greg,” John met Greg’s eyes with his own empty ones. Greg could only stare at the pair of them. John looked at him pleadingly, “I couldn’t let him leave me again,” John said, “Now he never will. And I won’t leave him either. Goodbye, Greg,” John looked at Sherlock and smiled gently, though every word and expression was screaming the insanity he hid for so long, “I’m coming Sherlock, wait for me.” John closed Sherlock’s eyes gently, then picked up his gun.

Greg realized what was about to happen right as it did. He let out a shout to the officers, but it was too late. There was another gunshot, and John Watson fell over onto Sherlock’s chest. Dead.


End file.
